The threads of mist enveloping the branches, the morning fog, concealing all shapes, as he was in the center of a dream, the dream that Thra dreams, and he is one with it, bathing in it, in its scent and its touch.
He didn’t even had to hunt to feel it. It was song of Thra, his own song of Thra. Silent, embracing him like a invisible arms of a tender lover.
Forest is where I belong.
And he knew this will never end, everything may pass, the skeksis reign, the empire, gelfling clans, but this – never.
It was his own song.
Engraved in his wild heart, whispering at unison with his soul.